Flight of the Blue Spirit
by chickenscrews
Summary: Sci-Fi AU. The ragtag, space-faring crew of the Blue Spirit is offered the deal of a lifetime—one that will grant the smugglers early retirement from a life of hardship and crime. Only, their luck betrays them and they find themselves caught in a galactic conspiracy involving a councilman's kidnapped daughter and the fleets of both the Republic and the Equalists out to kill them.
1. Phase 01: Trust

If, at any point during this fanfic, you happen to find similarities to such science-fiction masterpieces as _Firefly_, _Retribution Falls_, _Star Wars_, _Mass Effect_, _Deus Ex: Human Revolution_, and _Dracula 3000 _(and others yet unmentioned)...I'm not apologizing x)

Just to clarify a few things before you read:

1) This is an AU. There is no bending unless I decree otherwise later on, but that's not likely. We'll just have to settle with sci-fi technology and other fun things for now. Also, the politics and character positions aren't all the same, so the Equalists are more like a Separatist/possible Communist movement and Amon was never their leader, but they are still enemies of the Republic.

2) Amon's scars are real in here and he doesn't wear a mask. He is also a cyborg. Mwahaha.

3) Hasook was the Fire Ferrets' water-bender before Korra in the TV series. I mention this only because he's one of the more obscure characters who takes on a more important role in this story.

4) This is a mild crossover with the original Avatar series in that certain minor characters will be appearing here naturally at more or less their original ages and without the use of time-travel, such as Jin (from "Tales of Ba Sing Se"), who is a member of the crew. Because this is only a _mild_ crossover and is predominantly _Korra_-based, I didn't think it fitting to upload it in the "Crossovers" section. **[Update]:** This is now officially a crossover :D

* * *

Present crew of the_ Blue Spirit_:

Amon—the captain

Hasook—a combatant and unofficial first mate

Korra—a combatant and unofficial second mate

Asami—pilot and navigator

Bolin—engineer and tech expert

Jin—gunner and cook

Pabu—Bolin's pet fire ferret

* * *

**Flight of the_ Blue Spirit_**

**Phase 01: Trust**

[Scene 01]

From where they stood, Korra and Hasook had the perfect view of Republic City, a sprawling megalopolis that seemed to expand infinitely into the sunset horizon. There, pressing themselves anxiously against the reinforced glass of the rising elevator, the two young smugglers stood enthralled at the never-ending spectacle. Amon reposed behind them, cybernetic arms crossed as the scarred man smiled at their childlike wonder.

Korra started, "I've heard Republic City was big, but this…"

"This place makes Omashu look like a snow-globe," Hasook finished.

"Clearly, I need to give you kids more shore-leave," Amon said.

"That would be nice, thank you," Korra replied, still entranced by the cityscape.

"All the time we spend running gigs on the butt-crack edges of the system, I think we could use some vacation," Hasook remarked.

Amon said, "Lucky for us, this job Tarrlok offered should have us set for a long while. We move his cargo, and I'll show you how the other half lives."

"Thought you didn't like big missions like this, boss," Korra said. "Something about us always getting busted by the feds and hiding our sorry keisters out in the igloos for three weeks?"

Hasook added, "And since when do we take jobs from the Republic, let alone a councilman? These people weren't exactly our allies back in the war."

The burned man replied, "Tarrlok is the exception. There's a history between us. One we honored even on the battlefield. I'd trust the man with my life, just as he trusted his to me."

His subordinate's eyes were glued to him now, just as they were on the cityscape a moment ago. "Wow, boss," Korra said, "Never knew you had connections like this before. Why only tell us now?"

The answer was curt. "You didn't ask."

Korra scrunched her face in pouting, then glanced sidelong back to the city as she rested against the reinforced glass. Hasook smirked at the girl he'd come to know as his sister-in-crime behaving like the child he knew she was. Not that he was much better, of course.

Amon spoke again. "Tarrlok did his research. He's looked at every possible angle and assured me it's a simple delivery job as far as we're concerned. Move some crates and get paid. I'll convince him to let me see these sources for myself. But you two needn't worry." He smiled wryly at them. "I'll protect you from the big, scary boxes."

"Your valor is an inspiration to us all, boss," Hasook mocked.

The elevator reached its mark and the doors slid open. The three were greeted by the council page, Tarrlok's elderly assistant, as they stepped into the small lobby. The page was momentarily startled by Amon's face (or lack thereof), but recomposed himself moments later. "Ah, y—you must be Councilman Tarrlok's 7:00, yes? Captain Amon, was it?"

Before the captain could answer, Tarrlok swung open the door to his office with a mechanical right forearm, visibly jubilant as he approached the crew. "Noatak! It's been ages! Good to see you again!"

"And you as well, Tarrlok." With that, the two embraced in a hug, their cybernetic limbs not seeming to damage their spines. Neither the page nor the crew had expected this sort of welcome.

"Noatak?" Korra whispered to Hasook, confused at the unfamiliar name.

"Hugging?" Hasook whispered back, confused at...the hugging.

They pulled apart. "You look well, old friend," Amon said. "Council life treating you well?"

"Never better. And I trust your exploits on the rim have been bountiful?"

"Not enough to keep us from passing this up."

Tarrlok turned to the two young smugglers standing only a few feet away. He held that smile of familiarity. "I take it this is your crew?"

"Korra and Hasook," Amon answered. "They've been with me since the war."

That piqued Tarrlok's interest. The Equalist Revolution was only seven years ago, so he could only marvel at their implied history. "But, they're so young…are these the same rascals who held the line at Full Moon Bay?"

"In the flesh," Amon proudly answered.

The young smugglers were visibly amazed to see someone comment on their past, just as the councilman was to finally meet the former child soldiers. Tarrlok chuckled and shook their hands. "That was a very embarrassing defeat for the Republic. Thank you for looking out for my brother all these years."

And _that_ raised several more questions among the two young adults, as evident in their comically astonished faces.

"…B—brother?" Korra choked.

"I need some beer," Hasook matched.

Tarrlok continued. "The three of you come on in to my office so we can discuss this arrangement of ours."

[Scene 02]

Night fell over Republic City. The smugglers remembered the meeting like a surreal dream. The councilman's office was dark, hazy, and the lull of the running waterfall behind his seat was hypnotic. His every word was mist to their senses.

_"My men will load the cargo onto your ship. You're to deliver it to an outpost on the fourth moon of Patola as discreetly as possible. Word of the shipment's contents is _not_ to be disclosed to _anyone_. Not to yourselves, not the crew, not even the Republic checkpoints you may face along the way. Only I and my clients have access to that knowledge. All you need to know is that failure could jeopardize the state of galactic security both for my Republic and for your Equalists. We could be looking at another war if things go wrong."_

_ This raised some alarms. Hasook questioned the logic in sending_ them_ of all people to handle such precious cargo. While Amon settled his inferior down, he shared the young man's concern._

_ Tarrlok replied, "This is a diplomatic move I'm making in trusting Equalists to fulfill this task. Should you succeed, it would be a profound testament to our governments that the time for hostility between us is long over. But, the thing is, you are the _only_ Equalists I would trust this mission to, despite your inexperience with larger game like this. I also admire your policy of not asking questions. And, like I told Noatak earlier, you will be adequately compensated for your efforts. Fifty million yuan credits. Ten million now, the other forty when the job is done."_

_ That seemed enough to keep Korra and Hasook pacified—enough for retirement, even—but Amon pressed further. "You say this could ease old wounds between our people, but how would that be if no one ever knows what we delivered?"_

_ "I'll spare you the details, but the ones you're delivering to are _very_ influential people. After the job is done, they'll inform the higher-ups, strings will be pulled, and our governments will suddenly be inclined to show some gratitude to each other. Once the politicians make amends, the people will follow. It'll take some time, but this will be the first step in a long walk of recovery."_

Night fell over Republic City. The dark was vibrantly lit by the commercial flares of the megalopolis' nightlife, an industrial wonder many of the _Blue Spirit's_ crew had yet to adjust to. Korra felt a creeping headache. Hasook seemed uncharacteristically fidgety, possibly the paranoia of culture shock. Amon kept to himself inside the ship, suddenly wanting to leave the planet as soon as possible. As for Jin…the landing platform they parked on was high enough that most air-traffic flew below them and the ground level was nigh invisible amidst the chasms betwixt neon-lit skyscrapers and elevated streets. She wasn't especially fond of heights, so Bolin escorted her to a pub to drink the fears away. That left Asami, the natural-born city-girl, as the only one eligible to oversee the loading cargo—not just Tarrlok's, but that of other clients they'd scouted as well—and boarding passengers who needed the transport. Korra kept her company and Hasook stood not far away, reading a news tablet.

"So, the Republic councilman is the captain's brother?" Asami asked.

"Not just that, I think he even fought against us in the war," Korra replied.

"But Amon thinks we can trust him?"

"Looks like it."

"Do you, though?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. "He seemed nice enough and he even offered enough for us all to retire, but you know how I am around loyalists."

"It's been seven years, Korra. The war's over. A lot of people still hold those old grudges, but some are trying to make amends. If Tarrlok's the genuine article, we'd be insane to pass this up."

"So, _you_ trust him?"

"I _want_ to trust him. But like you said, loyalists are hard to trust, especially when they offer bait as tempting as this."

"You also think his offer is fishy?"

"We haven't exactly had the best of luck with high-stakes deliveries, even those offered by other Equalists. Spirits know we can't even pull off a simple pirating gig and don't have the qualifications for a big-shot to offer us a job like this, so yeah, I'm a little skeptical."

"You've really covered all the bases on this, huh?"

Asami smirked and shrugged. "It helps to be pragmatic."

Korra sighed. "But Cap'n's _convinced_ his brother's good on his word. Can't blame him, though, considering they were best buddies even in the war. Just hope his faith doesn't screw us all over."

They were interrupted by the discordant singing of their valued shipmates turned drunken idiots, Jin and Bolin, returning from their evening out and using each other for balance. Their voices did horrors for Korra's headache.

"SECRET TUNNEEEEEL! SECRET TUNNEEEEL! THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS! SECRET, SECRET, SECRET, SECRET TUNNEEEEEEEEEEEL! Yeah!"

Bolin added, "Whoo! That was a good pub! Korra, Asami, you two have _got_ to come with us next time! Hasook is invited, but only if he promises not to use Pabu as payment for our drinks like he did last time."

At this, Pabu slumped half out of Bolin's jacket, clearly drunk as well and reliving the nightmares of Hasook's treachery, whom the fire ferret since nicknamed "the accursed one" and punished by sleeping on his face whenever circumstances allowed.

Hasook called, never looking away from the news tablet in his hands, "Screw you and your pet human, Pabu!"

"I think he's coming around," Jin smirked. "Just keep sleeping on his face, Pabu, and you'll win him over in no time."

Hasook shouted back, this time irate and glaring directly at her, "Do not encourage him, you crazy devil-woman!"

Korra and Asami ran up to the three drunkards—the humans and the fire ferret—to escort them back into the ship once they realized the dangers of allowing the inebriated to walk freely on a landing platform as high up as theirs. Asami gave Jin a piggyback ride before charging Hasook to take over inventory-duty (to which he begrudgingly complied) and Korra hoisted Bolin and Pabu over her shoulder. To the drunks' credit, Jin didn't seem scared of heights anymore. She even made an offhand comment about the space beneath them looking like a sea of infinite jelly and of her desire to bounce in it.

"Thought we didn't take human cargo?" Hasook joked about their intoxicated crew.

"_You're_ human cargo!" Korra joked back.

Hasook sneered and returned to his reading. The smile faded at the newest headline:

_INVESTIGATION ON THE DISAPPEARANCE OF COUNCILMAN'S DAUGHTER REMAINS FRUITLESS._

_POLICE COMMISIONER BEIFONG SAYS TRAIL GROWS EVER COLDER._

On the front page was an image of Lin Beifong addressing the reporters from her podium in the police station. Beside the larger photo was a smiling portrait of Jinora, Councilman Tenzin's missing eldest daughter. At only eleven years old, she was the shining prodigy of what all Republic parents wanted their children to be: intelligent, photogenic, well-mannered…

"Damn shame," Hasook muttered.

The article quickly consumed his attention, making him forget about the outside world. He read the details of the girl's kidnapping, of the ransom note left behind, and of every lead the police had always leading into a dead-end. The Republic could hang for all he cared, but a child—_anyone's_ child—

"Are you the captain?"

Hasook jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He looked up from the tablet and saw a young man garbed in a dark brown greatcoat. His hair was short and black, his skin fair, and his amber eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses. A crimson scarf adorned his neck, the tassels of which drooped over his torso, and he carried a duffel bag by his side.

Recomposing himself, Hasook answered. "Ah, no. No. The Cap'n's inside, getting ready for takeoff. You one of our passengers?"

The young man reached into his pocket and handed the smuggler a stack of paper yuans.

"Am now."

Hasook quickly flipped through the banknotes with his thumb, counting them as though they were a deck of cards to be cut. He glanced back up and smiled at the newcomer. "Welcome aboard the_ Blue Spirit_, Mr…"

"Lee," the passenger replied.

_Lee._ A common pseudonym in these parts, Hasook knew. No doubt the man had something he was hiding from and was using the _Blue Spirit_ as his means of escape. The name was fake, but the money was good and that's all this crew needed.

"You're just in time, Mr. Lee. Name's Hasook. I'll introduce you to the cap'n. He'll show you around. Fair warning: he's kinda ugly."

They boarded the ship as the last of the cargo was loaded.

"Where're you headed?" the smuggler asked.

"Far out as this ship'll take me."

"We're going pretty far. Patola IV good for you?"

"It'll do."

Something about "Lee's" brooding monotone rubbed Hasook the wrong way. Maybe it was his dislike of strangers or of meeting someone who thought he was cooler than him, but he felt as though this new passenger shouldn't be so easily trusted.

"Nice scarf," the smuggler commented casually.

"Thanks."


	2. Phase 02: Faking Professionalism

It's generally not advisable to make fun of your boss' physical deformities, especially when said boss is within earshot. Bad things will happen to you.

* * *

Passengers aboard the _Blue Spirit_:

Kenji—a zookeeper traveling to Ba Sing Se

The mechanist and his son, Teo

Than; his wife, Ying; their infant daughter, Hope; and his sister

Professor Zei—head of the Anthropology Department at Ba Sing Se University

Wan—a drifter

"Lee"—a shady young man who keeps to himself

* * *

**Flight of the_ Blue Spirit_**

**Phase 02: Faking Professionalism**

[Scene 01]

A gleaming cybernetic cerulean eye peered up at the _Blue Spirit_ from under a dark crimson hood as the ship roared to life and zoomed into the nocturnal heavens. The commercial lights and energetic crowds of Republic City scampering about him, the man in the tattered cloak leered at the distant vessel and spoke in a metallic voice, "All too easy, my liege. The _Blue Spirit_ has taken its final flight."

[Scene 02]

Jin vomited into the tall cooking pot Korra held out for her just beside the stove. After some final moans and wheezes, the intoxicated cook groggily returned her focus to the _other_ pot sitting atop the burner, rhythmically stirring the meal with a wooden spoon. In a moment of nausea-induced cosmic awareness, Jin realized how similar the contents in the two antique crocks appeared, one being her lunch and the other the crew's dinner. She gagged once more, eyes popping open as she brought the oven mitt over her mouth to resist the urge, but nature and reason prevailed and she regurgitated in the second container for the fourth time in the last six minutes.

"And _what_ have we learned?" Korra teased.

Jin groaned. "Never get sloshed when I have cooking duty?"

"Never get sloshed when you have cooking duty," Korra affirmed. "You'll scare away the customers."

The gunner-cook grinned a sickly grin. "Even more than the cap'n?"

"Hey, at least his face looks _edible_, which is more than I'll say for your sorry meal if you barf in the wrong pot. …Don't his scars make you think of bacon?"

Jin chortled. "You did _not_ just say that! …But I always thought he looked delicious—now I know why!"

The two girls' laughter flooded the kitchen area, where none but themselves could hear their mutinous bacon-talk. After a spell of hard guffawing and a near-fifth regurgitation, they gradually settled down and wiped the tears from their eyes.

"How's the city-headache?" the cook asked her friend.

Korra half-joked, "Not as bad as the one you're gonna feel in the morning."

Jin afforded herself a placid smile, the kind she was known to have in her more flattering moments. "It was just supposed to be one or two drinks, though. To get over how high up we were. I never did like heights. Bolin and I were on our last round when Chong found us…"

Korra jolted in surprise. "Chong? Chong, the pipa-player we took to Omashu? The nomad who got us all stoned by releasing those 'special herbs' of his in the vents that made us crash into that Cabbage Corp transport?"

Meanwhile, in the pilot's seat, Asami suddenly had a brief near-heart-attack at the memory of failing life-supports and flocks of cabbages floating ever so gracefully through the vacuum of space. The cabbages became dinosaurs and nearly ate the ship, but Asami assumed that part was just the drugs at work.

Back in the kitchen, Jin only held that easygoing smile. "Yeah. Good times." She hiccupped a moment and then returned to drunken serenity, stirring the stew as if in a trance.

Amon entered the kitchen just then, cloaked in a holographic cartoon penguin suit with giant eyes that could stare into one's soul and a permanently gaping grin as he led the tour group of ten passengers whom he felt would be more settled being led by a comically deformed arctic fowl than an Equalist war veteran missing most of his face. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but there were a number of weak-stomached city folk too sheltered from harshness to avoid cringing on sight, at least initially. Were it only grownups, he would've waited those short seconds for them to adjust, but with an easily upset infant in the tour group, he felt it unfortunately best to mask himself for now.

"And here we have the kitchen," the Penguin-Captain instructed, "where our little community gathers three times a day to discuss the finer things in life over a delicious hot meal prepared by our own—" He paused when he noticed Jin vomiting into the pot just beside the one she was cooking in. The passengers gagged and Amon sighed in the most irate disappointment beneath his frozen holographic mask. _Spirits kill me now. …No, just kill Jin now—I want Tarrlok's reward._

The Captain recomposed himself and said to his cook in a calm, even voice that belied a barely-suppressed sulfurous cesspool of hellish rage: "Jin, dear, would you care to reassure our honored guests that you will _not_ be serving them _your_ lunch for dinner and that they will instead enjoy a hearty and delicious repast?"

Jin smiled drunkenly, giving her boss a thumbs-up with an oven mitt-covered hand, and said gleefully, "Nope." The passengers gasped before she added "But Korra might."

Put on the spot, Korra nervously urged the travelers, "It's okay, people! This woman is a professional and I have been supervising her cooking all night. Please don't panic."

They didn't seem convinced.

An aging mechanist in the group jibed, "Well, we can only hope she had a good lunch," he said with a bright smile, referring to the barf bucket, "maybe we'll enjoy it too."

The other nine passengers gagged and groaned, his wheelchair-bound son most of all. "Dad…don't."

Jin got a good laugh out of it, though.

Penguin-Amon sighed and asked, "Korra, when will dinner be ready?"

His second-mate looked into the pot over the stove and guessed, "About ten minutes."

The Captain turned to the ten behind him. "You heard the sober one. Dinner's in ten minutes. In the meantime, I'll show you your rooms." He said to the two behind the stove, "As you were, ladies."

As the group passed through the galley, Korra play-saluted, "Aye-aye, Cap'n."

And Jin made the inebriated mistake of saying, "See ya, Cap'n Bacon-face!" prompting freaked-out responses from Korra and the tourists. And she said it with such an innocent smile too. …Then her inner sobriety regained momentary control and her soul shattered in fearful realization as her outraged captain barraged silent hellfire at her through his smiling holographic penguin face.

An unspecified measure of short time later, Korra battled for her life against a blazing stove while trying to make sure their dinner survived the conflagration Jin somehow always managed. Jin, meanwhile, was in a spacesuit harnessed to the _Blue Spirit's_ outer hull, wailing as she scrubbed the weathered surface while trying not to hurl in her suit.

[Scene 03]

"Hit her with the windshield wipers," Hasook said from his comm-station in the engine room while Bolin and Pabu were safely secured to a metal railing but were still intoxicated enough to keep tripping over themselves.

"I'm not hitting her with the windshield wipers," Asami answered back from the pilot's seat. Their object of discussion was Jin, who was now cleaning the windows and occasionally passed over the main windshield. "So, how're _your_ drunks doing?" Asami asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Hasook groaned at listening to Bolin and Pabu converse with each other.

"Hey," Bolin said to his fire ferret, "don't question my talent for real-estate marketing. You know—you know what I did to that giant owl who sicced his fox mafia on me?"

Pabu chirped incoherently in reply, which Bolin's mental subtitles translated as "When did we meet a giant owl?"

Bolin thought a moment. "Wait—no, you're right, Old Man Pathik wasn't an owl. Jeez, what was he?"

"Was he a cactus?" Pabu supposedly asked.

"Yeah, that's it—a cactus." Bolin said. "Anyways, he's got this restraining order and I—"

"_Please_ get me out of this," Hasook pleaded with Asami.

The pilot laughed on the other end. "No way. It's fun watching you squirm."

"You've been conspiring with Jin and Pabu, haven't you?" the first-mate asked. "Is there a secret 'Ruin Hasook's Life' club that I don't know about?"

Asami smirked. "Why? You wanna join?"

Hasook sighed. He spoke again, more seriously this time, "I think I already have."

The pilot sounded confused, but the concern was evident. "Hm? What are you talking about?"

Hasook thought a moment, wondering how to explain himself. Then he confessed, "I took on a last-minute passenger. Don't know nothin' about him and I'm pretty sure he's using a fake name. Paid entirely in cash and…I'm just wondering if that was smart 'cause…well, aren't we supposed to run these things by the cap'n first, just in case?"

"You're worried this guy might be bad news."

"Prob'ly just being paranoid."

"Yeah, you have seemed extra fidgety since the meeting with Tarrlok. But why, though?"

Hasook groaned. "I dunno. Maybe I just hate big cities."

After a thoughtful pause, the pilot ventured, "What's this guy like?"

"Heh?" the first-mate grunted.

"This mysterious passenger of yours. Tell me what he's like so I can see if he's really trouble or not."

Hasook grumbled. "Asami…"

"Hey, I'm a good judge of character. You know that. So, what's—?" She was suddenly quiet, and that quietness unsettled the first-mate. Then she said with a terse urgency in her voice, "Hasook, get in your spacesuit. Jin barfed in her helmet."

His eyes shot open and he cursed aloud, then he ran out the door to grab his gear and save his comrade.

Left to themselves, Bolin said to Pabu, "Hey, did I ever tell you about the big friendly mushroom?"

Pabu subtitled back, "Dude, that—that wasn't a mushroom."

"Oh yeah, that was the Boulder who dislocated my shoulder, wasn't it?"

[Scene 04]

Hasook propped unconscious Jin on her side against a pillow on her bed. This way, she wouldn't choke on her own vomit if she hurled again in her sleep. As the first-mate sat back on a stool parallel to the bed, he recalled that the only reason she, Bolin, and Pabu got themselves wasted was to help Jin get over her fear of heights while the _Blue Spirit_ was docked on that high platform. Then Hasook wondered if the possible alcohol poisoning was really worth it. He watched her as she slept: her eyes closed, breathing much easier, and, though it pained him to admit it…she really looked so peaceful and beautiful right now. Maybe she was more often than he cared to admit.

"Bothersome woman," he mumbled under his breath.

He decided to glance around her room, an opportunity he never had before. The first thing he noticed was a poster for a massive electronic music festival and laser lightshow dating a few years back: the Dancing Dragon. But was it really a festival or a rave? Hasook never felt in-touch enough with his peers to know what these things were called.

On the floor near her bed was a light green t-shirt that read "Jasmine Dragon Customer of the Month." Actually, there was more than a handful of memorabilia from that obscure Ba Sing Se tea-shop throughout her room, including a framed picture of her smiling with the shop's owners: an old man, Mushi, and his nephew, Lee. Apparently, she also had a thing for tea.

And there were also sketchbooks and multicolored drawing tools strewn over Jin's desk. Now that Hasook bothered to notice, he did sometimes see Jin scribbling in a notebook in front of scenes or settings he now supposed could've been subjects for drawing. Honestly, he never pegged her for the artistic type, or even a music-lover for that matter. Curiosity taking the better of him, he decided to grab a sketchpad and skim through it, if for no other reason than to see what went through the mind of the woman he believed conspired with Pabu to make his life a living hell.

But he stopped himself before opening the cover, afraid what he might find would contradict everything he believed about her, that perhaps she wasn't as evil as he decided she was. He put the sketchbook back on the desk and sighed, rubbing his forehead and hardly believing he stayed in this room as long as he did.

Then curiosity overtook him again and he opened the book to the first page. To his surprise, it was a very well-drawn and warmly-colored scene of Amon, Bolin, and Asami chatting in the ship's kitchen. Pabu sat on the table and swung his paws at the bouncer toy the pilot teased him with. Jin captured their expressions and the kitchen's homely atmosphere perfectly, even if the style wasn't entirely realistic. Artistic deformities notwithstanding, this was them.

On the other side of the sheet was a portrait of Korra, smirking haughtily and leaning against a human-shaped dummy whose stuffed head was split wide open by the vibro-tomahawk she flung into it from a presumably large distance away. Judging by the surroundings, this was in the cargo bay. Of course, the artist captured his sister-in-crime's outgoing, boastful personality all too well.

The third page seized Hasook's attention right away. The drawing was of a stuffed toy bison upheld and surrounded by various other props, including an empty container from the Jasmine Dragon. But that wasn't just any toy animal. _Is that…the stuffed bison I won for her at that carnival? Spirits, that was years ago._

He looked again at the passed-out drunkard on the bed, amazed she appreciated that gift enough to put so much effort and detail into drawing and coloring it. Of course, that was years ago and things change over time.

He returned to his seat with the book and continued browsing. Some pictures made him smile. Others made him laugh. Some were weird and others were heartwarming. He had no idea what to think of the one with the penguin wielding a giant machinegun and battle-ax and wearing a cape and crown while standing atop a mound of skeletons.

The door opened behind him and there stood Korra, exhausted and traumatized as though she'd just survived a terrible bout of trench warfare. That's what cooking duty was for her. She held a bowl of stew and a bottle of water and said with that blank stare of post-trauma which offset a perfectly level voice, "Got your dinner."

Hasook, undeterred by Korra's appearance, only replied "Cool." But then he realized something. "Wait, does this mean I'm not eating at the table?"

"Yep. You got Jin-watching duty. Make sure she doesn't choke on her own vomit," Korra said as she handed him the bowl. She put the bottle on a nearby tabletop and said "Water's for Jin when she wakes up. Y'know, to keep her hydrated after all that hurling." When she saw the open sketchbook on her friend's lap, her smile returned and she said "Go to page twenty-eight."

Eyebrow raised, Hasook flipped to the mentioned page and disgruntledly beheld an image of himself asleep in his bed, hair a mess, limbs and sheets contorted, and Pabu sleeping on his face. The worst part was how much time and effort she clearly put into recording the fire ferret's criminal action rather than preventing it.

Korra laughed at her comrade's annoyed reaction. "Oh, your face!"

Hasook seethed. "And here I almost had second thoughts about her."

Korra indelicately placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, go easy on her. She could really use a friend right now. And I bet she'll really appreciate what you're doing for her when she wakes up."

The young man grunted. "Yeah, I doubt that." He closed the book and placed it on a nearby table so he could eat his meal.

Korra frowned and then turned to Jin. She noticed something was missing. "Hey, where's Oatmeal?"

"What?" Hasook asked with a mouth half-full of stew.

"Ah, here he is," Korra said as she reached for a fold at the foot of the bed and pulled a stuffed bison toy out from under it: the very same Hasook won for Jin at the carnival. Then she tucked it under Jin's arm, prompting an unconscious smile from the gunner/cook.

Thoughts passed in his mind. _She named it Oatmeal? She named it at all? She still has it?!_

Korra smirked triumphantly back at Hasook, "See? She does care."

The first-mate flushed a moment, then averted his gaze and mumbled, "Bah."

The second-mate chuckled and turned to leave. Before she left, she paused in the doorway and said over her shoulder. "You know, you could stand to make some friends. Give Jin a chance."

Hasook grunted, then answered, "No promises," before eating more stew.


End file.
